


Curses, Blessings

by Robiness



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergent Post-V7, Hinted Fair Game, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Qrow-Centric, Qrowtober 2020, Swearing, the relic is a good bro but also a lil shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27240838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Robiness/pseuds/Robiness
Summary: You are the master of your fate.The statement is ridiculous; anyone who knows Qrow and his luck would agree.Fate has granted you an audience. You have a choice to make.However, Qrow's stuck in the Beacon vault and has to get out. He makes the choice, even as the options spin into the unbelievable.His misfortune permanently erased, or the return of the man he lost too soon?
Relationships: Qrow Branwen & Clover Ebi, Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 10
Kudos: 39





	Curses, Blessings

**Author's Note:**

> Early contribution to [Qrowtober](https://robiness.tumblr.com/post/631282420948369408)'s Free Day (October 31st). Uploading early because life is hectic, time has been wonky and I'll probably forget.
> 
> Edit: It has come to my attention that today's prompt is 'Accessory', which kinda fits? Right???

A second ago, Qrow was surrounded by the family, friends, and allies that fought with him in this seemingly endless war. A second later, he had fallen into the vault he was trying to protect from their enemies. 

Funny, how things changed drastically in mere seconds. Less funny is how Qrow gets thrown into the shitfest that follows.

He cursed as he rolled in anticipation of a fall that didn’t come. Instead, he floated mid-air for the minute or century before gravity made itself known and slammed his body on something hard and flat that was probably the ground. 

Whatever it was, it knocked the wind out of him and he swore again.

The Huntsman managed to make himself stand, a little too unsteadily for his taste. He looked around the vault, but he couldn’t tell where the ceiling met the walls. There were no corners, no doors, and the only light led to a solitary throne a few feet away. Even then, this light didn’t lend itself to the rest of the room, as if the surrounding darkness absorbed all of it. The hairs at the back of his neck stood in protest.

Instinctively, he reached for his scythe but only met air. He forced his body to relax and search as well as he could with limited sight, but Harbinger was nowhere to be found. 

Quickly, he lifted a hand to his collar to find that the clover pin wasn’t there, either. Taking deep breaths to hold off the creeping panic, he turned his attention to what _was_ there. 

Qrow clenched his fists and strode towards the throne. Upon closer inspection, the throne was occupied by a glimmering golden crown that could only be the Relic. Maybe taking it would allow him to leave. 

He hesitated. Despite Yang’s retelling of her experience in the Spring vault, would such a magical item just… _allow_ him to take it without a fight? 

Not Qrow, not with his luck, surely. He wasn’t really in the mood to trigger his Semblance while handling a centuries-old, somehow-sentient source of immense power.

But then he remembered that there was a fight going on right outside. Last he saw, Blake was down and Ren could barely stand against their many enemies, both Grimm and human alike. They sorely need Qrow’s aid, but…

What if their luck had turned now that Qrow’s stuck in here? And even if he managed to get out, will they be able to protect the Relic if he returned with it in hand? Would he just be delivering it to Salem’s clutches?

Shaking his head, Qrow chastised himself for being stupid. He swore to guide Ruby and Yang and the rest the best he could. Besides, it’s not like he could stay here forever. Even if he was kinda tempted for lots of fucked-up reasons.

He looked back at the crown and took a deep breath.

He reached out to touch it. His finger barely brushed it when the whole room lit up in a blaze, too fast for him to react. He swallowed, looking around at pure white floors and walls. Still no discernible exits. Damn.

The magic thrumming in the air felt like what Oz used to give him wings, but a million times more intense. Still, it didn’t _feel_ malicious, so he adjusted the crown so he was holding it with two hands. “Um… hello?” he whispered, voice hoarse.

 _Qrow Branwen,_ a voice coming from the Relic whispered back. _You are the master of your fate._

He couldn’t help it—he immediately snorted. “You’ve got the entirely wrong guy, pal.”

_You are the master of your fate._

“Nah, I’m just one of the fools caught up in this mess. A slave, really, if we’re going with your metaphor.” His tone was light as he tried not to think of father figures and feelings of betrayal and hopelessness.

_You are the master of your fate._

“Right. Any chance you can get me out of here?”

_You have a choice to make._

Qrow let go of the crown, and it floated up above him. “Hm. Okay. I choose to leave.”

_Fate has granted you an audience. You have a choice to make._

Okay, this was getting old real fast. “Well, get on with it. What are the choices? Or is it a trick question?” Most _choices_ were often illusions, magical or not. At least in Qrow’s experience.

_You are the master of your fate._

“—Or something I have to figure out on my own? Wouldn't care myself a master of that either, but that one I have a lot of experience with.” 

_You are the master of your fate, Qrow Branwen, and the paths will be revealed to you._

“Alright, I get it already, I am ‘the master of my fate’—” As soon as the words left his mouth, the brightness dimmed, and the crown was obscured in a cloud of...well, magic. 

A shadowy figure emerged from the cloud, shifting into a humanoid entity. Held in its hands was his Harbinger.

Qrow shot out his hand immediately, but it passed through the image like smoke. He gritted his teeth.

_Allow the paths to be revealed, Qrow Branwen._

“I’d like the path where I get to be armed,” he snapped but watched silently as another figure emerged from the magic cloud. It presented the clover pin. 

“My weapon, return my weapon,” he forced out. It was difficult, but with the fight raging on outside, with the kids in danger, he knew it was the only choice he could make. 

(There were some nights when he was alone that he thought or hoped or wished that the good luck of the previous owner—even just a little bit—remained in it. 

Not because of the potential usefulness, though it would be very useful now. He yearned for it because on those nights in particular the metal felt too cold, too empty in the face of the ache. On those nights, he wanted the man so desperately that even traces of the life in him would have been water in the drought.)

He shook off this melancholy now. The man was gone. Never really known or understood, unlike his weapon, unlike his skill in combat. His kids needed Qrow Branwen the fighter, not the heartbroken fool.

_The action lies within you. It will not be returned, for you will be the one to take it. You are the master of your fate._

He tried to take Harbinger, but it dissolved just the same. “Then why can’t I take it?!”

_What you seek now is not among the choices._

“Okay, I’m getting _real_ tired of this,” Qrow muttered darkly, Blake’s scream from earlier echoing in his head, followed by Yang’s rage and tears. He already made a choice. “If it’s not between my weapon and my p— the pin, what are my choices, then?”

_On your left, the path to remove what you have declared your plague. On your right, the path to remove the burden that infinitely weighs down your weapon._

A painful throbbing pulsed behind his eyes. “Can you stop speaking in riddles?” he pleaded. He just wanted to leave. He just wanted to make sure all of them out there were safe. His _kids._

_Choose the left to regain your freedom. Choose the right to regain your friend._

“Freedom? I’ve never had—Look. You relics are some wise beings with knowledge of the world, right? Well, here's some new info, pal. I’ve never been free, not since I unlocked Misfortune. Won’t know freedom if it spat at my face and even then it would probably just stab me in the back.”

_Choose the left to regain your freedom. Choose the right to regain your friend._

Now it was being aggravating on purpose. “I don't have time for games. There are _children_ out there fighting for their lives, and the only freedom I need is from this damn box. Is that what you mean?"

_Choose the left to regain your freedom. Choose the right to regain your friend._

"Left then, let me out of here. Left!"

_What you seek now is not among the choices._

"Fuck!" Qrow wanted to pull his hair out. "Please... I don't know what else you could mean. You mentioned my plague? Here's my plague: I won’t _ever_ be free _,_ okay? Not with this Semblance.” 

_Yes,_ was the only reply to his outburst, and realization struck him like a bucket of water.

He had to physically step back in shock. “My Semblance,” he said in wonder. He looked up at the three items. “My Semblance? I can remove my Semblance? That’s—is that even possible?” 

The figure holding Harbinger nodded, and the smoke that held Harbinger seemed to dissipate a little. 

His misfortune was useful in battle, but couldn’t be counted on now to affect him or his allies. More impactful was how it ruined every other part of his life. It wasn’t worth it. Qrow was a Huntsman that didn’t need the perk if it was also a liability. After all this, he could spend time with his nieces and their friends. He could go wherever he wanted, _stay_ wherever he wanted. He could _have_ whatever he wanted—

He recalled the stakes. 

_Choose the left to regain your freedom. Choose the right to regain your friend._

“Which friend? I’ve lost a lot over the years.” he asked, deliberately obtuse. He was stalling, of course he could see the pin, of course he knew which death burdened him the most, _of course he knew which friend._

The Relic remained silent. It reminded him of Oz and how his silences were all-too-knowing.

Qrow looked at the pin, which now had less smoke around it as well.

His misfortune permanently erased, or the return of the man he lost too soon? 

The answer was obvious. He already made the choice earlier, hadn’t he? But then he thought he was choosing between his weapon and the pin… how could he possibly choose between his freedom—yes, it was indeed freedom being dangled in front of him, fuck— and, and—

Was either even really possible or was this a trick? Had he been knocked out in the battle outside and was dreaming of his deepest desires? 

How could he wrap his head around the sheer possibility of it, much less make a _choice_?

He squatted in front of the throne, unable to look at the two items being held out to him. Gripping his head, he began to cry. Never before had he felt his bad luck turn on him so thoroughly. He was going to get an unbelievable boon, sure, but would he ever forgive himself for forsaking the other option? Of course not. Choose one and he’d have actively chosen to endanger his loved ones for the rest of his life. Choose the other and he’d have wasted the chance to reverse his mistake, the chance to give a good man the life Qrow took from him. 

He started laughing to himself. Loud, harsh and uncaring of his mythical audience. It was just like him to get an inconceivable, wonderful gift and have it still be a curse.

Fine. Fuck. Fate wanted to play? Then he’ll play.

Shakily, he got back up. He gave the two shadows a bitter smile. “Both.”

The relic remained silent, of fucking course, but he continued without a care. “If you're telling me that finally I have a fucking choice in all this, that I’m the _master of my fate_ , then it doesn’t make sense for me to tear myself apart this way. I choose _both_.”

Again, no reply.

“So. I’m taking _both_ my freedom and my… friend, or neither. Because fuck you for doing this to me.” He laughed, ignoring the voice in his head that asked him why he had to make things even harder for himself. He wiped his tears away and crossed his arms in defiance. “Don’t get me wrong, I will be getting back to my kids. I’m going to claw my way out of here if I have to. But the only choice I’m making here is refusing to be your sick entertainment.” 

The relic remained silent. Ah well, he’s really done it now. But at least he did it on his own terms. 

Resigning himself to a very bad time, he closed his eyes and sighed. 

_Very well, Qrow Branwen,_ the relic whispered right into his ear. He opened his eyes only to be assaulted by a blinding white light and the overwhelming feeling of being pulled upwards, then _apart_. 

* * *

A second ago, Qrow was having a relatively peaceful if tense audience with the Relic of Choice. A second later, he was here on vaguely familiar ground with even more familiar aches in his body. The distant sounds of battle confirmed that he was out of the vault and within reach of his kids. He stood up too quickly and swayed on his feet. 

He raised a hand to rub his aching head and saw a foreign glint. He furrowed his eyebrows at the sight of the relic wrapped around his wrist like a bracelet. 

So he didn’t imagine the vault... Could it be—There was no way to truly check if his Semblance was still there except through time, so he shouldn't get his hopes up. As for—

“-row? Qrow?!”

Qrow widened his eyes, rubbing them to clear his vision faster. Absently he realized that Harbinger was back on his hip, but his attention was honed in on the man in front of him.

Clover, with his stupid hair and concerned teal eyes.

"Qrow, are you alright? That was a nasty fall—I didn't see your Aura break, but—"

It worked, it _worked._ "It worked," he croaked in disbelief. "It worked."

He wanted to reach out, to confirm what his eyes and ears were telling him, but he didn't want to shatter the image if it turned out to be an illusion.

"Yes," Clover replied, eyes narrowing in thought. As if he only began to consider the impossibility of his being there once he finished checking over Qrow. "Where are we, exactly?"

"Beacon. Vale." And wasn't the sight of Clover in his home just something? "Clover, I—"

There was a growl behind them. Several Grimm had spotted them in their little alcove and soon others would follow.

Qrow automatically tensed for battle, remembering that the relic would attract the enemy. "Clover, the kids—!"

Clover nodded. "After we find the others." He had no weapon but his stance was confident, ever the cocky soldier.

There was a lightness in Qrow's chest. He didn't know if it was from seeing Clover, head trauma, or the possible absence of his bad luck. Everything felt so unreal, but he focused on the goal: the Grimm in front of him. Then, getting his kids out of the line of fire. He'll have more time for introspection later.

Clover winked at him as one of the Grimm roared, and Qrow unsheathed Harbinger. He entered the fray with an expert swing, the relic glinting on his wrist.

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on a [Tumblr post I made](https://robin-ess.tumblr.com/post/190762775717/qrow-branwen-holds-the-relic-of-choice-it-asks) way back in February 2020. I'm aware that we've learned a little more about how the Relic of Choice functions, but I preferred to maintain this divergence. 
> 
> I really wanted to fully participate in [Qrowtober](https://robin-ess.tumblr.com/post/631282420948369408) but life has really been busy. I still have a pile of obligations right now but since I've been trying for WEEKS to write for leisure to no avail, today I woke up and said "fuck this, im going to write today". It will put me way behind sched but I'm retaking my autonomy, thanks capitalism. 
> 
> Let me know if I still know how to write lol! Remember to take breaks and do stuff you find fun, everyone. Hope V8 is kind to us all! But especially to Qrow Branwen.


End file.
